


Knives Strapped to Boots

by bitsukki



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Ice Skating, M/M, if i'm being honest with myself, it's just a ball of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:12:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsukki/pseuds/bitsukki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Marco's an experienced figure skater and Jean could be paid to fall down, he's done it that many times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knives Strapped to Boots

**Author's Note:**

> I once saw an interview where a figure skater talked about how they were really just gliding around on knives strapped to boots or something, so that's where the title came from.
> 
> Inspired by [this tumblr post](http://kimiooon.tumblr.com/post/76764321389/story-where-jean-meets-marco-for-the-first-time-on)

Jean wasn't quite sure how he had ended up leaning against an ice rink for thirty-five minutes watching people wobble around in circles. He was sure it had something to do with his roommate, Armin, who was working at the rink's entrace. There was something about how Armin's car battery wouldn't start, and Jean was such an awesome and amazing person. A person who didn't have any plans for the day anyway, right? Because Armin’s fuckwad of a best friend had decided that it was a damn fabulous idea to go to a winter training camp or something else entirely uninteresting, leaving Jean to be Armin's best option. He hadn’t used those exact words, of course, because he was too kind to ever call anybody a fuckwad, but Jean’s mind supplied them for accurate descriptions and creativity.

So Jean had grumbled along in his car, all the way to the Trost Ice Zone, with Armin sitting gratefully in the passenger's seat. He had dropped the blond boy off out front with every intention of going back home and jumping back into bed, but a quick look at the time convinced him otherwise. It was already 11am, and if he went back to bed now he would throw off his very tenuous sleeping schedule. He groaned, pulled into a parking spot, and walked into the building.

Armin had been right in assuming that he didn't have plans for the day. It was almost sad that he had nothing better to do than stay and wait for the other boy's shift to end. Jean supposed it was better than driving all the way out here twice. Even so, there was little more to do than to watch from the sidelines as strangers attempted to stay upright on the ice. He had never really understood the point of ice skating anyway. Sure, people claimed that it was fun, but come on. Who in their right mind would put thin strips of metal on boots and think, "Maybe I can use these to slide on a surface that’s hard enough to stand on naturally? Maybe that's a good idea."

Plus, it was damn cold and uncomfortable when you fell. Which everybody did if they weren’t one of those fancy figure skaters.

Armin had come to check on him about twenty minutes into his shift, while things were moving slowly, because the guy was actually a decent human being. “You know you don’t have to stay, right” he had said, giving Jean those stupid concerned puppy dog eyes.

“Of course I know that. I’m bored and figured I’d stay for a while. In case you wanted to go to lunch or something on your break. The food here’s shit.”

Armin just smiled. “It is, isn’t it? We really need Sasha back. If you’re sure you’re okay though, I appreciate it.”

“I said I was fine, didn’t I? Go back to work, Armin.” Jean didn’t always come off as the nicest of people; he relied far too heavily on the assumption that people were smart and would get what he meant, and then becoming impatient when they were too dumb to do so,  but he could never bring himself to speak to Armin with any real malice. Armin was smart enough to get it.

He watched as Armin walked away and back behind the skate rental desk, smiling at a couple who walked through the front doors. Jean turned his eyes back the ice and sighed. He was bored and generally regretting the life decisions that had put him here. It was something he did often to pass empty time. He watched for a little while longer, leaning forward on the rail where there happened to be no glass.

“You’re not going to skate?” a voice from somewhere behind him asked. Jean had to fight to keep from jumping. But he didn’t because he was too cool for that, or so he liked to pretend. Of course. He swallowed his heart, and turned around to face the owner. The freckled man who had spoken to him gave Jean a small smile. He was lacing up a pair of what appeared to be figure black skates, one eyebrow raised in a question and looking amused as he did so. God only knew why.

“Ha. No.” Jean said shortly before glancing over and checking the time. He had been standing there for almost 50 minutes now; his legs almost felt too stiff to move from their current position. He wondered how long the freckled man had been watching him stare blankly, uninterested, out onto the ice.

“That’s no fun. Why come to an ice skating rink if you’re just going to stand on the sidelines looking grumpy?” He knotted the laces of skates, putting both feet down on the ground leaning his elbows on his knees. Jean frowned at the words. He didn’t look grumpy. He looked bored. There was a distinct difference between the faces. Something to do with his eyebrows, he’d once been told. He wasn’t quite sure, and didn’t really care either way.

“I just don’t like ice skating,” he said flatly. “I don’t see the point in trying to slide around when you know you’re going to end up falling. The risk doesn't quite equal the reward."

"So why are you just standing there, watching?"

"I thought I’d maybe figure it out if I watched for a while. Or something.” Or something like he had nothing better to do and nowhere better to be. And this way nobody, nobody being his mother, could get on his case for being a hermit with no friends. There was a well-timed eye roll that belonged in there somewhere.

“Or something?”

“Or something.”

The freckled man shrugged easily, as if he didn’t particularly care either way. Which he probably didn’t. Who would honestly be interested in striking up meaningful conversation with a random guy hanging around at an ice rink? “Suit yourself, but really, I think you’re missing out,” he said, before standing up and stepping out onto the ice with ease. At least Jean had somebody interesting he could watch now.

After a few minutes Jean was suddenly very glad that he hadn’t left earlier when he had the chance. And he was glad his feet where practically glued to the floor where he stood, giving him an excuse to stay.

Holy shit  was really all Jean could think as he watched the man glide through the wobbling, falling, messes that were on the rink’s edges. He was a class apart from the rest, practically floating along the ice. Of course Jean had seen figure skating before, but that was on television, never in person. It was different witnessing it this way. Before it was mildly interesting, knowing that he could never pull those things off himself but not quite seeing the merit in being able to do them in the first place.

Now it was captivating, and Jean couldn’t help but stare. The bored look had been erased from his face entirely.

He watched as the stranger moved so gracefully, dressed in all black, starkly contrasted from the bright ice. He watched the way he twisted and spun to whatever music was playing, possibly to the music in his own head. He watched the way he seemed to ignore the rest of the world as he glided, as he flew. 

Holy shit, he’s beautiful.

\---

Jean came back the next day. And the next few days after that. He stayed each time, watching the patrons stumble along for a period of time. Luckily for him it looked like Armin’s car was going to be in the shop for a while so he had an excuse to be there. He doubted that saying he wanted to watch a pretty man skate would be very valid if he was questioned about it. He didn’t think Armin knew why he kept staying as he kept insisting that it wasn't necessary.

“You can’t be that bored, can you, Jean? Don’t you have anything else to do?”

But the (sad enough) fact was that, no, Jean didn’t really have anything else to do. All of his exams were over and his parents were currently vacationing around the world for their anniversary or something. His few other friends were either out of town, or still working on their own exams and out of commission. 

It was pretty much the same every day. Strangely enough he didn't mind.

He wouldd be there for a good half hour, sitting and doing nothing but mentally ridiculing strangers as they fell. Sometimes he’d make up stupid dialogue in his head to go along with it. But other than that, he was quite content to sit on the bleachers –he had learned from the first day after his feet had practically started yelling at him on the way home- and watch the freckled man (whose name he still didn’t know, he realized after the third day) skate gracefully across the ice.

Until on the fifth day he decided he was finally bored and figured it would be a good time to break the routine. So Jean found him as he was still putting on his skates, leaning against the railing much like he had been on the very first day, but this time facing the other man.

“So what’s your name, anyway? You’re here every day.” Jean asked, making an attempt to sound casual.

“My name’s Marco. And I could say the same about you, couldn’t I?” he smiled as he spoke, and Jean smiled back. “Are you still trying to figure out the meaning of ice skating?”

“Something like that, yeah.” If he was being honest, he had already figured it out, as he had watched Marco skate. And, god, it sounded way too fucking cheesy in his head but he didn’t know how else to put it.  Or at least, he figured out that there didn’t have to be a real rhyme or reason when you could skate like the man in front of him. “I’m Jean, by the way.”

Marco stood up and walked over to stand beside him. “You know, Jean, you’re not going to figure it out by sitting there..”

“Huh?”

“Have you actually ever been ice skating?” he asked and Jean frowned.

“Yes. Once. And my ass still hurts.” And it should, given how many times he’d landed on it during the unfortunate experience. It didn’t help that Armin was trying to teach him while Eren did nothing but casually skate backwards and laugh at Jean every time he fell. His roommate's best friend was a real fucknugget most of the time. Jean had given up on ice skating after that. Solid ground and flatter surfaces were the better choice.

Marco laughed. “You should give it another try.” And now it was Jean’s turn to laugh, because the idea was ridiculous to him.

“That’s probably not a good idea," Jean said. “I doubt it would end well.”

“You don’t know unless you give it a shot.”

 

\---

“Stop laughing, damnit!”

Marco made a motion like he was zipping his lips, but he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as Jean grabbed the wall and hoisted himself onto his feet. Stupid fucking ice skating and this stupid fucking idea and stupid cute guys who could convince him that dumb ideas are actually good ones. Fuck that.

Those stupid freckles and eyes had bulldozed their way through Jean’s stubbornness. That was the only way to explain why he was sitting here, ass freezing and knees definitely bruised as he tried, and failed, to stay upright in an empty ice rink on a Sunday night.

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea. Shit,” Jean muttered as he held tight to the wall. His legs were wobbling and he hadn’t managed to stop swearing since he had stepped out onto the ice. It wasn’t fun. No matter who he was with. He could be with the Pope and this still wouldn't be entertaining. It was embarrassing and dumb and he was a grown fucking man who couldn’t stand straight-

In a second there were hands slowly pulling his off of the wall, holding him at the elbows and helping him stay on his feet. Jean was suddenly looking at Marco, who was right in front of him, gliding backwards and pulling Jean along and Jean’s blush spread up his neck at a rapid rate. “Keep your feet closer together. You’re messing up your center of balance if they’re spread farther than your shoulders.” Marco spoke kindly. The amusement hadn't left his voice, but it didn't feel like he was making fun of Jean. It felt more like endearment. It was the kind of tone you would use when you laughed at somebody doing something cute.

And if that thought didn't make Jean blush harder, he didn't know what would.

“Shit. Yeah. Okay.” He fumbled around a bit more, wobbling before grabbing Marco's upper arms. He tried his best to make his own feet mirror Marco's, but that wasn't so as easy to do as it was to think.

“Stop looking down at your feet so much. You’re questioning yourself. Just look at me instead.” Jean looked up, at Marco's face instead. He definitely preferred this to looking down at skates.

“Okay.” 

“Small steps. Let the momentum pull you forward. You don’t have to work so hard.”

“Okay.”

And that’s how they spent the evening; Jean let Marco pull him along in circles around the rink, occasionally whispering little tidbits of advice to him to try and keep him standing.

 Jean still fell, though not as often, and Marco was always there to help pull him back up onto his feet, always smiling like he was laughing at his own private joke. And it wasn’t so bad. And maybe Jean realized the point of ice skating that night. And maybe he realized why people struggled to slide on ice with blades attached to boots. He had realized that there didn’t need to be a point. There didn’t need to be a point other than to simply enjoy it when you managed to stay upright for more than a minute. There didn’t need to be a point other than to be mesmerized while watching somebody twist and spin in ways that shouldn’t be possible.

Or maybe it was a week later that he figured it out when they went skating again in an empty room, and Marco asked him if he wanted to grab a cup of coffee when they were done.  

Jean wasn’t quite sure how he had ended up leaning against an ice rink for thirty-five minutes, watching one man in particular weave in and out of those skaters who were wobbling along in circles. But he certainly wasn't complaining..

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in like two years and I know next to nothing about ice skating or figure skating. I'm so sorry. I couldn't help but write this anyway. 
> 
> P.S. I really love Eren. I also love the way he and Jean call each other stupid names and pretend to hate each other. It's all with love.
> 
> If you have any requests or prompts you should totally hmu at bitsukki.tumblr.com


End file.
